His Brother's Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  “Say, how is it that you managed to keep your dress so nice while traveling all the way here?”

  “I do own more than one gown.”

  He frowned. “I never suggested otherwise.”

  “Yes, you did. You asked how I managed to keep my dress so nice while traveling, thus implying it is the only gown I own.”

  He blinked at her. Beautiful, tart-tongued, mindful of her appearance and intelligent, she was a combination that could prove deadly to a gentleman's pride, to be sure. “You arrived with nothing more than that dress and bonnet and the papers in your hands. What was I supposed to think? That you'd already had all of your earthly possessions moved into Watson Estate last week?”

  She didn't so much as frown at his sarcastic remark. “Perhaps I should have done that.” She lifted her hand to stare down at her flawlessly manicured fingers. “Instead, my items are being delivered to your cottage right now, I expect.”

  Henry pulled the horses to a halt. “I beg your pardon.”

  She lowered one hand then brought the other up for inspection. “My things, they're being delivered to your cottage. Since it's you I'm marrying and not your brother, there's no reason to have them delivered to his house.”

  Henry tried not to grind his teeth but could help it no longer when she shrugged and dropped her hand as casual as could be.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her hand clutching the fabric of her skirt as if it were a lifeline.

  “Back to the house,” Henry bit off. He steered their horses into a large patch of thick green grass and then turned them in a slow circle, heedless to how much it jostled Her Highness as she sat mounted atop Lightning as if she were a queen waiting to be presented before all of her subjects.

  “There's no need to rush back. I'm sure Brutus and Alfred have it well in hand.”

  He was bloody sure they did, but he didn't want her things in his house. He came to an abrupt halt. “Do you plan to spend your nights in my house—and in my bed—too?”

  “Absolutely not.” She lifted her chin a notch. “I am still a lady. I shall sleep at the main house until our wedding, but there was no sense in moving all of my things twice.”

  Or once. The next time he saw Elijah, he was going to box his ear for this. “Won't you need your clothes—” The rest of his sentence died on his tongue as a truly wicked thought formed in his mind. “Perhaps it's for the best your things are being moved to my lodgings and not Alex's house. As it would be, Alex and his wife, Caroline, are in London right now, leaving Watson Estate with a skeleton staff and no lady's maids. At least if you stay with me, I can help you dress each morning.”

  “If that's what you think you need to do.”

  ***

  She only prayed it wasn't what he saw fit to do. His eyes on her fully clothed person were awful enough; he made her skin burn with nothing more than the intensity in his blue eyes. She couldn't imagine how it'd be if he saw her naked. She tightened her grip on her skirt at the awful thought. The last thing she wanted to do was let him know how much he repulsed her. For if she did, he'd surely refuse to marry her, claiming he was doing her some great favor by releasing her from the contract.

  As it was, it would serve her best to be agreeable—for now. And if that meant allowing him to hold the reins in his usual highhanded manner or to make hollow threats about disrobing her, then so be it. If nothing else, Lucinda, her stepmother, had taught her how to be demure; and marriage to Robbie had taught her to never question one's husband, for he didn't like it. That was all well and good and something she could comply with for the time being. But she'd also learned what it meant to be without a home or penny in her reticule, and she knew just who the cause of that was: Madison Banks, the chit who got everything Laura had worked so hard for just handed to her. And nothing short of death would keep her from exacting the revenge Madison deserved.

  But now wasn't the time to worry about that. The time would come.

  “Shall I sing?” Laura bit her lip at the look of disbelief that briefly came over Henry's handsome face. Truly, he wasn't a bad looking sort. He was taller than most and had a broad form, blond hair, eyes as blue as the Georgia sky on a summer night, and a slightly tilted smile—when he chose to show it, that is.

  “Sing?”

  “Yes, sing. Isn't that what you gentlemen consider ladies good for? Singing and sewing?”

  Henry pulled their horses to a stop again, never once taking his eyes off hers. “Please, remind me of when I said those very words, for I don't remember such nonsense escaping my lips.”

  Laura shivered under his watchful gaze. “I never said you spoke those words. I said gentlemen, which is what you are, is it not, often think the only purpose for those of my sex is to entertain them when necessary or fall into the background when not needed. Since I'd likely put a needle through my finger if I were to try to sew atop this beast, I thought I'd offer to sing.”

  He urged the horses to walk again. “Can you sing?”

  “Everyone can sing, Mr. Banks.” But whether everyone should sing was another matter entirely. And to be frank, Laura shouldn't sing. Ever.

  “If that's what you think you need to do,” Henry said with a smirk.

  Laura recognized those words as the very ones she'd said earlier, and for some reason, it made her skin prickle to hear him say them. Did that mean that if she saw fit to sing, he'd see fit to disrobe her? She'd wanted to annoy him by singing, the same way she was annoyed at his giving her such a slow horse and insisting on holding the reins as if she was a child, not provoke him. “Perhaps we can just listen to the birds singing as our amusement.”

  “No. Now that you've made the offer, I'd like to hear you sing.”

  You won't in a moment.

  “Go on,” he goaded.

  Laura took a deep breath. “O, say can you seeeee, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed, at the twilight's last gleaming. Da, de, da, da, de, daaaa! Hmm, de hm, hm, hm, hmmmm. And the rockets red glaaaare, the bombs bursting in aaaiiiirrr, gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there! O, say does that star spangled ban-ner yet waaave, for the land of the free, and the home of the braaaaaaaave!”

  “You are a very peculiar young lady; did you know that?”

  Laura smoothed her skirts and offered him her best smile. “Thank you. Would you like to hear the second verse?”

  “Only if you'll get the words right.”

  “Well, I never,” Laura said feigning the best gasp she could while trying not to laugh. She knew she'd gotten the words wrong or completely forgotten them. It was easy to do with a song as long and confusing as that one. Besides, she'd only heard it chanted a handful of times since the poem had only been written a little over four years ago. Even still, the men who frequented the taproom in the boarding house she had worked at in New York had liked it well enough and would half-chant, half-sing it at least once per night. Not that she stayed in there to hear it. No, she had other things to do, but had picked up the tune and most of the words just in passing. She narrowed her eyes on him. “How do you even know what the words are? I have a hard time believing an English gentleman would give a hang one way or the other about the words to a poem written by a rival country who bested yours.”

  Henry shrugged. “I don't care so much about the words, but being a proud American, boasting about your defeat, you ought to care.”

  Laura flushed. “And how would you know the correct words anyway? Do you hum the tune from time to time as a way to remember your days in America?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it was there. “No. But I've sung a song similar in tune, if that helps you any.” He hummed a little of the tune. “Would you like for me to sing it for you?”

  Laura didn't know whether to be suspicious of Henry's offer or to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Is it bawdy?”

  He flashed a grin at her. “The bawdiest.”

  She pressed her lips together. �
�Then I don't think I'd like to hear it.”

  “No? Are you sure?”

  “I'm sure.”

  “I'll sing it anyway, 'The yellow-hair'd god and his nine fusty maids—”

  Laura clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. His singing was as bad—or worse—than hers!

  “—from Helicon's Banks will incontinent fleeee—”

  “Please stop, I pray you.”

  Henry flashed her a smile but continued on, “Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades, and the bi-forked hill a mere desert will beeee. My thunder, no fear on't shall soon do its errand and dam'me—”

  “That's quite enough.”

  “But I wasn't done,” he protested with a frown.

  “Yes, you were. As soon as you asked someone to damn you, you were done.”

  He chuckled. “Does the word damn scandalize you, thee who is sweeter than any Georgia peach?”

  “No, but calling me your Georgia Peach does,” she said with a grimace. She frowned. “How did you know I was from Georgia?”

  “How did you know my surname wasn't Hamilton?”

  “You read a private missive addressed to me?”

  “No. But now I know how you knew my identity.”

  She shook her head. This sort of exchange was exactly the reason she'd approached Elijah. Elijah didn't have an air about him that made her say the first stupid thing that popped into her head. “It's of no account now,” she said, flicking her wrist even though she didn't feel an ounce of the confidence and dismissiveness she was trying to convey. The fact was she had opened a private letter. She hadn't known it was for him at the time. It had no direction written on the outside, so she had opened it to see who it needed to be given to.

  “It's of no account to you perhaps,” he mumbled, making her inwardly grin. At least they could both agree that they were not exactly suited nor overly thrilled at the prospect of spending the rest of their lives together. Not that it would matter. All she needed was one event with his cousin and her husband present. “Say, Mrs. Swift. Why do you want to marry me anyway?”

  I don't. I wanted to marry Elijah. She bit her lip to keep those words inside of her where they belonged. He still thought he'd fooled her into thinking he was Elijah. It wouldn't do her any favors to give up her position so early. “You already know, you rascal.” She said a silent prayer that those words sounded more sultry and seductive to his ears than they had to hers and then batted her eyelashes at him.

  Henry pressed his lips together in a straight line, obviously mulling over her statement and debating about what he could possibly ask her in return. Instead, he nodded. “Very well.”

  ~Chapter Three~

  Stop thinking of how to murder your twin! Henry commanded himself in his mind. Not that it mattered. Premeditated murder was treated the same as impulsive murder. Murder was murder; and if Elijah returned from his wedding trip from Italy any time soon, Henry would shortly thereafter find himself on trial, followed by being led to the gallows. This woman was insufferable!

  It wasn't that she was being disagreeable, quite the opposite. She'd ridden along nicely without a single complaint about him holding the reins. Her singing was awful; but then again, so was his, so he wasn't exactly in a position to complain on that score. However, there was still something about her that got under his skin, and it had nothing to do with her challenging remarks or little quips. It was just something about her.

  Perhaps it was the way she sat atop that horse with all the dignity of a queen, even though her clothes were more suited for a peasant. Or perhaps it was the way she didn't cower and try to avoid him like so many young ladies did. He truly didn't know why those young ladies found him disagreeable, but they did; and he'd never been nearly as big of an arse to them as he had been with this one. Hold her reins, indeed. He fought the urge to scowl down at the leather straps in his hand.

  “You're not really afraid of horses, are you?”

  “No. I never said that I was. You just assumed I was.”

  “Well, you were holding the reins as if they were a rope that had been tossed to you while drowning in the Atlantic.”

  “I've never ridden sidesaddle before.”

  Henry handed her the reins. “I'm sure you're accustomed to it by now, then.” He turned away. His voice had come out far rougher than he thought it should have. He hadn't intended to belittle or demean her, but that's exactly what he'd done. And for what? Because his brother had foolishly signed a betrothal agreement with her? It wasn't her fault that his brother was a bit impulsive at times. No, apparently it was now Henry's problem to deal with.

  And that's exactly what Laura Swift was: a problem.

  And the worst kind, at that.

  Beautiful and confident, direct yet elusive, she was a deadly combination.

  “Shall we go back to the house?” He had no idea why he'd suggested such a thing. What were they going to do? Alex and Caroline had dragged Mother to London for the Season and Elijah and Amelia weren't expected to return from their wedding trip for a while yet, leaving them to their own devices.

  “Of course. It'll give me time to get settled before dinner.”

  Henry nodded once. He could only imagine how feminine the dowager house would be by the time they returned. Or would it? He glanced at her again from beneath his lashes. With how simple she'd dressed to see him, was it possibly she hadn't lugged an excessive amount of items over the ocean? He nearly laughed. She was a female. That alone meant she'd brought an excessive amount of useless items wherever she went; items that would now be all over his home, he was certain of it.

  “Do you always look so angry, or is it just when you're thinking of me?”

  Henry snapped his head to the right to meet the laughing, hazel eyes of the impertinent chit on the horse next to him. “Just when I'm thinking of you, I'm afraid.”

  “And here I thought it was only your brother who I annoyed.”

  His brother? Oh right, Henry. “Perhaps you gave him reason to find you annoying.”

  “Perhaps.” She clucked her tongue to get Lightning to go down the right path. “But there's no need to discuss such an unpleasant topic.”

  Henry guided his horse to the right to keep pace with her. “Is that how you term Henry, an unpleasant topic?”

  “Indeed. He held me in very low regard while visiting my relations. I can quite honestly tell you I'm not saddened that we haven't glimpsed him yet today.”

  “Yes, what good fortune you bear,” he said dryly. He racked his brain to think of just how he'd been anything less than friendly to her while staying with Theodore and Eunice Swift. But nothing came to mind.

  She opened her mouth to say something and then quickly closed it again.

  He narrowed his eyes on her. She couldn't possibly know, could she? He dismissed the idea. He and Elijah were identical in almost every way, except for the small scar just above Elijah's eye. But one had to be looking very closely to notice that.

  “I'm certain whatever he did or didn't do was not done intentionally to make you dislike him so much.”

  She shrugged and a little laugh passed her lips. “Do you always care so much about correcting your brother's wrongs?”

  Only when he—as in himself—hadn't committed any. “Not particularly; but we are brothers, so taking up for the other is just what we do.” That was true enough.

  “Well, you have no need to do so in my presence. I shan't speak of him again.”

  “And what about to him?”

  “If it's necessary.”

  Henry had to turn his head to hide his grin. “Good. I'd hate to think of how awkward family dinners would be if you refused to speak to my twin.”

  “Not nearly as awkward as if I refused to speak to you, I shouldn't think.”

  He chuckled at her logic. “You are undeniably correct.”

  The house came into view, and if Henry hadn't spent the better part of a decade as an Agent of the Crown, he might not have notice
d the way she stiffened, just a little. Curious.

  “Would you like to go inside and start getting settled while I take our horses back to the stable?” he offered. Surely she was exhausted from her lengthy travels.

  “All right,” she agreed, her voice devoid of any identifiable emotion.

  Henry dismounted and helped her down. “I'll be back in a half hour or so.”

  Laura nodded and then glided down the lane to the yellow dowager's cottage.

  Henry jerked his eyes away. He had no business shamelessly staring at the curve of her hips as she walked away. What was wrong with him? With a grunt, he swung up on his horse and directed the horses to walk on before he could be tempted by that enchanting beauty again.

  He remembered her now. Not that he hadn't recognized her right off, he had. But he was remembering just why she thought he didn't like her: he'd practically told her so. Not in so many words, but he had told her to go make herself useful somewhere else; she was distracting. A distraction he didn't need then. Not that he needed one now, either; at least not that kind of distraction.

  Sure, he was rather unaccustomed to having so much time to himself now that Elijah had married, but that was no reason to fill it with a tart-tongued beauty. Perhaps tart wasn't a fair adjective...she was more...er...clever than he might like to think. That was it, not tart, just quick and full of sharp wit.

  He grunted. There was no reason to be paying her compliments—even if they were only in his mind.

  Actually, that wasn't true. There was a perfectly good reason to pay her compliments—even if only in his head. If he didn't find a way to drive her away, he just might end up married to her, which meant he'd better hold her in some sort of esteem or the rest of his life would feel like a prison sentence. He swore under his breath. What had his brother been thinking signing a betrothal agreement with her? He'd always suspected his brother fancied Lady Amelia Brice—now Mrs. Elijah J. Banks—even then, so why would he have signed a contract with her?

  No matter. The fact was, he'd signed it, and now Henry had to either drive her away or suffer the unnatural, and not to mention, unpleasant, fate of marrying her himself.